James Clavell - Gai-Jin

She was still everything to him. Nothing else mattered. This afternoon he had humbled himself with Angelique and cajoled and begged and pleaded and menaced until she had given him a brooch in lieu of money. Raiko had accepted it.

Angelique's stupid. Why is she wavering?

Of course she should accept Tess Struan's offer, buying her off, and quickly before it's withdrawn.

The offer's generous, overgenerous, more than I expected considering her untenable position: no will in her favor and anyway no estate to claim against! Five hundred guineas as a down payment in three weeks! Wonderful--a gift from God!

She can spare four hundred of that and I'll arrange moneylenders to advance another thousand against her trust, two thousand, whatever I need.

Skye's a fool. She'll settle after I've talked to her, and gratefully accept any advance when I suggest it. I'm saved!

Looking at Hinodeh, he beamed, so joyously.

"What?" She fanned herself against the rising alcoholic flush, the tip of her tongue between her teeth.

In French he said, "I'm home free, my love, soon you're paid for and all mine forever."

"So sorry I do not understand."

Reverting to Japanese he said, "Tonight I just happy, and say, you mine. You so pretty, you mine."

She bowed her head at his praise. "You are handsome too and I am glad when you are happy with me."

"Always." But this was not true. Frequently he was angry and stormed away. Always the same problem, a chance remark, leading to asking, then taunting, pleading, demanding, begging, shouting: "We don't need darkness! We're lovers and we don't need the dark anymore, we're friends as well as lovers, I am committed to you forever.

Forever! I love you, you can never know how much I love you, you can't know, I keep asking and asking and asking but you just sit there..."

Always the same patient, abject response, head to the floor, her voice soft, with or without tears, and absolute: "Please excuse me but you agreed, so sorry but you agreed."

Again she drank and he saw the increasing blush in her cheeks, watched her pour again, her fingers unsure and a drop spilled. She caught her breath with a chuckle. "Oh so sorry." His cup filled again, and hers, quickly drained, her tipsiness making her even more alluring. "Oh, that's very good, very very good, neh, Furansu-san?"

Long fingers with perfect nails shaking the flask and finding it empty, at once gracefully to her feet, the overlong kimono trailing, making her seem to glide to the brazier where other flasks sat in simmering water, and, on a ledge outside the tiny window, where others cooled. Wind came into the room momentarily and, with it an unexpected odor. Gunpowder smoke, faint but unmistakable. "What's that?" he said in French.

She looked at him startled. "Please?"

Now that the window was back in place the odor had vanished. "Nothing, I thought..." Tonight everything about her enticed him. "Nothing, please sit. Here."

Obediently she sat beside him, bumping him, chuckling. Unsteadily she poured again. Amused, he drank with her, the sak`e warming but not as she was warmed. Under the blanket her leg touched his.

His hand went to her, the other around her waist and they kissed, her lips whisper soft and moist, her tongue sensuous. His hand went higher, she broke from the embrace, laughing. "Wait, wait, not here, tonight..."

Like an excited schoolgirl she pushed away, lifted herself and went for the bedroom and its single lamp, as always to blow it out and then, when she was ready in the darkness, to invite him in. But tonight she stopped at the doorway, steadied herself against it, then turned, eyes glowing. "Furansu-san."

Watching him, she hummed as she removed the long pins in her hair and let it cascade to her waist. Now she loosed her obi and let it fall. A chuckle. Then her kimono and let that fall. All at once he was breathless, transfixed. The gold of her under-kimono shimmered with the candle flames, the sheer silk revealed but did not. Again the tip of her tongue toyed with her lips. Coquettishly she loosed the ties and let the under-kimono open slightly. No underclothes beneath. Only the narrow line of her body revealed, from neck to tiny feet. And all the time the enigmatic smile and eyes beckoning, compelling him to wait, promising, tantalizing. Wind rustled the shojis but went unheard.

His heart was pounding as never before. He forced himself to remain seated. Now he could see her chest rising and falling, the nipples of her small breasts hard against the silk. Then she sighed. With perfect grace she let this covering slowly slide away and stood there in all her purity.

For him time stopped. Hardly breathing he gloried in her gift, so unexpected and given so freely. When he could endure the waiting no longer he got to his feet. His arms were gentle and he kissed her with all the passion he possessed, strong against her, she limp in his arms. Easily he lifted her and laid her on the futons in the bedroom and tore off his clothes.

And knelt beside her, gazing at her in ecstasy in the light. "Je t'aime, je t'aime."

"Look, Furansu-san," she said, lying there with her lovely smile. Her fingers were pointing at the inside of her thigh. For a moment he did not understand. Then he saw the abrasion. His heart almost leapt out of his chest, bile flooding into his mouth.

"Look," she said again, so softly, smile constant, eyes so dark in the small light. "It has begun."

"It, it nothing," he said, his voice choked.

"Nothing."

"It is everything." She looked up at him.

"Please give me the knife."

His head reeled, his eyes blind but for the sight of the sore that filled the world. With a gigantic effort he shook his head to clear it. And forced his eyes to see. But this did not take away the vile, sick sour taste. "It's nothing, it is just, it's nothing, nothing at all," he croaked. The closer he looked the less important the blemish appeared. "Just a chaff mark that's all."

"Please? You must speak Japanese, Furansu-san, so sorry."

"It... it not illness. Not that. Just, just tight loincloth, nothing worry." He reached out to cover her and blow out the light but she stopped him.

Gently.

"So sorry, it has begun. Please. Give me the knife."

As always his knife was in the sheath on his belt.

As always. With his clothes, behind him. "No, please, Hinodeh, no knife, knife bad, no need knife. That, that mark nothing."

Through his nightmare, he saw her shake her head, kindly, and repeat the request that had become a command. His limbs began trembling, his head to twitch uncontrollably, no way to stop them or the mumbling incoherent litany of French and Japanese that poured out that begged and pleaded and explained that the little spot was a blemish, nothing more though he knew it was not nothing. It had begun.

She was right. It had begun, it had begun. His stomach heaved. He just managed to stop himself vomiting, mumbling on and on.

She did not interrupt, worse, only lay patiently, waiting for the fit to pass. Then there would be a resolution.

He said, brokenly, "Listen, Hinodeh, please no knife. Please. Cannot... That... it nothing. Soon go away. Look me, look!"

Desperately he pointed at himself. "Nothing, nowhere. That little, soon go. No knife. We live. No afraid. Happy. Yes?"

He saw a shadow cross her face, again her fingers touched the abrasion, again the same sweetly monotonous "It has begun."

He fixed a smile and did not know it was grotesque, and as much as he cajoled and twisted and turned, she kept asking the same question, gently, politely, infuriating him more and more until he was near exploding. "It nothing," he said hoarsely. "Understand?"

"Yes, I understand. But it has begun.

Neh?"

He stared at her, his face mean, then his rage broke, and he shouted, "For Christ's sake, yes! Yes, YES! Hai!"